Sleeping with the Enemy
by Jael K
Summary: This 2013 version of Leonard Snart and the 2017 version of Sara Lance are supposed to be enemies. They know that. So why can't they seem to stay away from each other? A sequel to "Enemy of Mine Enemy."
1. Chapter 1

This is a sequel to "Enemy of Mine Enemy." I suggest reading that first.

I don't own LOT.

Thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta read!

 _..._

 _Four months later per Waverider time._

 _Coast City, 2013._

It starts as just another perfectly ordinary mission-where "perfectly ordinary" equals "team of superheroes trying to protect the timeline."

A museum in Coast City has acquired what its curators believe to be an unusual form of gemstone, a three-inch rock of a uniquely shimmering pale blue color. Before they hand it over to geologists at the local university for testing, though, it's on display for a limited time alongside the museum's prized blue diamond, drawing hundreds of people to "oooooh" and "ahhhh" over the so-called "Stars of the Coast."

Of course, it's really not a gemstone at all, Rip tells them, but a fuel source unique to a particularly dire weapon that will be used, briefly, during the wars of the 2200s. Whatever time traveler left it in a jewelry box locked in a trunk in the bottom of an abandoned storage unit, they will probably never know.

They can't let it be studied, not yet, so Mick, Sara, and Ray are there to take it first. Mick, because he's closest thing to a team thief they have now. Ray, because he has the technical know-how to deal with the security system. Sara, because she's bored.

At least, that's what she tells them. It's true enough.

Mick and Ray have the system shut down when an arrow speeds out of the shadows straight for Mick's head. Sara knocks it out of the air first, then heads for Merlyn as a pack of what appear to be hired flunkies head for Mick and Ray.

The fight is brief, but intense; Merlyn escapes like the cockroach he is when Sara turns to give Ray an assist, but the trio of Legends takes the day with minimal damage to the museum-or even the flunkies.

But in doing so, they let themselves be distracted.

"Wait. Where's the riebelite?" Ray peers at the empty case, then looks around like he's expecting the rock to materialize under his nose. "And, uh, where's the diamond?"

Mick makes a noise that's half-admiring and half-annoyed - because, really, they all know where the damned diamond went. "We fell for that. We really friggin' fell for that."

There are three exits in the gallery. Sara's in motion toward one of them instantly, trusting the others to take the remaining ones. Counting on it, actually.

She turns her comm off as she runs, at least the transmitting side of it, figuring the others will be paying too much attention to their own surroundings to notice the dead air...and the empty museum is pretty much silent anyway.

A faint noise up ahead provides a contrast; she puts on an extra burst of speed, then cuts to the left, into a small side gallery...and into his arms.

"Is that a diamond in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" she whispers when they both come up for air.

"Both?" Leonard's lips twitch as he studies her. "I can't believe you fell for that."

She growls at him. "In my defense, Merlyn was shooting arrows at my friends."

She sees him frown, knows he dislikes the reminder that Merlyn is shooting at Mick, at her. She may restrain herself from trying to get him to change sides at this point, but she's going to keep reminding him what his cohorts are, whether he likes it or not.

He shakes it off, though, and leans near to kiss her again. And she lets him.

"I have a hotel room," he whispers in her ear. "A bit more comfortable than this. I told them I wanted to plan an outside job while I'm here."

"Oh? Is that what I am?"

She can feel the low rumble of amusement in his chest. "I'd never say that. You have more weapons than I do. Still...the Marriott on Front Street. Under 'Alex McCoy.' Or are you leaving again now?"

"Hmmm. Shouldn't be a problem." She tugs on all his layers, gets her hands up under parka and shirt for a caress. "But it's been two weeks. Come on; you can make it a quickie now."

"Poor Sara. So deprived." But he moves his hands to her waist almost involuntarily, and she closes her eyes with a shiver as his mouth moves to her neck.

"Sara! Sara? Do you need backup?" Ray's plaintive voice comes over her comm, making them jump. "Is your comm down? Mick and I didn't find anything. Where did you go?"

"Damnit!"

Leonard laughs at her tone and takes a step back, that low chuckle sending a ripple down her spine again, then dips his hand into his pocket and tosses the riebelite to her.

She snatches it from the air easily. "And the diamond?"

"Oh, I'm keeping that one." He winks at her. "See you later."

And then he's gone again. She tosses the rock from hand to hand, smiling to herself, then turns to head back to the others.

* * *

She hadn't expected, in all honesty, for it to happen again. Neither, she thinks, did he.

But they'd been in 1920s New York City two weeks after the compound incident, tracking down a mob boss of the time who'd gotten his hands on what he thinks is heroin. (And it is, actually. But it's originally from 100 years in the future and very, very potent.)

She had been moving through a speakeasy, trying to look like just another giggly flapper who'd lost her way, when someone had grabbed her arm, pulled her into a side room...and the next thing she knew, she was holding a knife at Leonard's throat again.

They'd stared at each other a heartbeat or two before lunging at each other. She shoved the door shut behind her; he pressed her up against it. The intense make-out session that followed was probably more appropriate to a pair of hormonal teenagers than two adults of their respective ages, and it's very hard to keep from laughing as they catch the looks on each other's faces at the sound of their respective teammates passing outside…at separate times, of course.

He leaves her, she thinks, with new regret in his eyes … and a whispered tip about where to find the heroin in question. He doesn't like drugs, she recalls, never has, even barred those he's worked with back in Central City from dealing in them. Back at the ship, Mick had blown up and stalked away when they'd found out the Legion had apparently been after the drugs, saying that Leonard would never, ever deal in such things, not in any time. Turns out he was right.

She wishes she could tell him. But she won't.

It might jeopardize this...whatever it is

Because they just can't seem to quit. 1969. 1891. 1944. 2001. Closets and offices and once a car he'd stolen. It's not always sex (although it often is—they've gotten _very_ creative). Sometimes it's just a stolen kiss or a brief touch, even a quiet conversation.

It's almost become a game. Her team doesn't know. Neither does his. He actively doesn't want her to tell him anything about the Legends, but he's started dropping tiny bits of information about the Legion's activities. ("I'm here to steal things. I don't give a shit about any of their other goals. Anything that pisses them off is fine by me.")

He doesn't bring up her final words of their first encounter. She wonders if he's as cautious of damaging this fragile thing as she is.

Because as the time goes by, she starts seeing more and more of the man she knew in the man who isn't quite yet.

* * *

When they get back to the Waverider, Amaya is waiting at the hatch. Sara watches the other woman's eyes flick to Mick's face, then away, and smiles a little to herself. We can't always help where we give our….

She's not sure how to finish the sentence, even in her own head.

"What happened?" Amaya asks, carefully directing the question to the two of them as Ray, carrying the item they'd been after, vanishes into the ship, muttering happily to himself about _science_. "The captain said that…the Legion…showed up.".

The Justice Society member dislikes mentioning Mick's former partner, especially in his presence. Sara has her own theories about why. Mick himself has little patience with it.

"It was Snart," he tells her, just a little brusquely. "And Merlyn and some goons. But, yeah, we got it."

Sara shrugs. "I don't think he expected me to catch him," she says. _Yeah, like hell he didn't_. "He threw it at me and got away when I kept it from going into the museum ductwork. He kept the diamond, though."

"Snart always did have his priorities straight," Mick observes, then laughs at Amaya's expression. "What? We got the power source. That's what mattered, right, Pussycat?"

"Hmmm." Still, she gives him a little smile. "Ultimately, yes. I'm glad no one was hurt."

"Blondie chased off Evil Robin Hood; Haircut and I just had some rent-a-thugs. Piece of cake." He sighs as he starts into the ship. "Didn't even see Snart; just saw his results."

"Oh? Sara, how did you catch up with him?"

 _She couldn't suspect anything...could she?_ "Luck. I guess. I ran in the right direction; they didn't." Sara falls into step besides her teammates. "So, are we sticking around here for a bit?"

"The captain says so. He has some calculations to run and said you all might as well have some free time." Amaya, Sara thinks, does not really approve of "free time." "I have never seen the ocean. I thought it might be pleasant to visit the beach."

 _Or maybe not! Hmm._ "Mick, you know Coast City a bit, right? You should show her around." She nearly laughs as Mick makes a thoughtful noise and Amaya blinks at her.

"Maybe," he allows. "Later. Need a word with the captain and a hot shower first." He offers them both a brief smile as he departs. Sara turns and walks backward toward her room, grinning at Amaya.

The other woman looks briefly flustered but rebounds, lifting an eyebrow at her. "You have something on your neck."

"Mmm? Oh. Dirt probably. I really need a shower too." She gives Amaya a sunny smile before heading for her room, resisting the urge to run her fingers over the mark she's perfectly aware is probably peeking out from under her jacket. Leonard just can't seem to resist her neck...

She wonders if he's had to explain any similar marks to his so-called teammates. The thought amuses her.

 _"Fuck off, Thawne..."_

She knows she's changed again, and she knows the team sees it. She's happier, more relaxed, and far, far less likely to go looking for "entertainment" of another sort - actually, she hasn't picked up a single one-night stand since this started.

She's also a trifle less likely to fling herself into danger, though she's still trying to figure out a way around the rules, a way to take Darhk down. Leonard, who doesn't even know what she's lost to the man, has taken an extreme dislike to him as well, and she suspects they're rarely sent out on the same missions because of that. In fact, he seems more and more discontented with his "employer" every time she sees him...

But she doesn't want to think about that right now. There are _much_ better things to think about.


	2. Chapter 2

Sara's tempted to wear a dress that Stein once described as "an incitement to riot." But it doesn't seem quite appropriate.

Leonard certainly admires the White Canary outfit—always has, blatantly at times—but that's not appropriate either. Not for this.

Increasingly cognizant that she's acting like a teenager whining about not having anything to wear on a date (and sucking in a quick, pained breath at the gut-punch that comes every time she thinks of Laurel, whose closet she so often raided in such circumstances), she rests her forehead against the edge of the closet door and sighs.

Laurel would laugh, if she didn't utterly flip out first. She smiles sadly at the thought of explaining it.

 _"It's not really a date. I'm sort of carrying on a torrid affair with a supervillain. But he's not_ really _a supervillain. Not really. He was a teammate and friend who might have been more before he died a hero …. but that's a few years from happening to this_ him _yet, and he doesn't even know, so I'm taking what I can get while I can get it."_

Yeah. That would go over well.

Finally, she falls back on oft-ignored sisterly advice: Be yourself. So, she goes for Sara Lance, not the White Canary or the neophyte Time Master. Tight jeans, a blue top, a few pieces of jewelry. Hidden weapons, of course.

She smiles after a glance in the mirror. She _could_ actually be going on a date, not...whatever this is.

She doesn't really want to talk to any of the others, but she ducks her head into the engine room to inform Jax—who is, along with Stein, the least likely to try to interrogate her—that she's going out and will back by morning. It's not so rare a phenomenon these days, or at least it hadn't been.

Jax gives her a small smile. He may think he knows what she's up to; he's wrong, of course, but it's better than the melancholy look Mick would give her, the wounded-puppy expression from Ray, the exasperation from Rip, the disapproval from Amaya. (Nate tends to wear a rather blank expression around her; she thinks he's a little frightened. Good.)

She's just out of the ship, the Waverider cloaked behind her, alert for any sign she might be followed, when a whisper of sound grabs her attention. She stops. Listens.

Nothing.

She's too eager to get going to mess around with shadows. She puts the Waverider behind her, and heads into the city, smiling to herself.

Behind her, the shadows sigh.

* * *

It's a nice hotel. And, damn, if that man hasn't gotten himself a nice corner suite with a gorgeous view of the city.

Not that she sees it for longer than a second before he's kissing her, and she's kissing him back, and, well, they lose a few minutes in that.

When they separate, he's wearing that look again, the one that can't decide if it's smug or shell-shocked. (She's pretty sure _she_ just looks smug.) She grins at him, registering the fact that she's actually seeing Leonard Snart in just a dark blue shirt and jeans...by far the least amount of clothing she's ever seen him in, unless you count, say, barely anything at all.

He looks good. Damned good.

After a moment or two, they seem to mutually realize they're wearing similar foolish grins. She glances away, and noticing him doing the same.

There are papers spread out across the suite's desk and she wanders over to them as she admires the view outside the windows, lifting an eyebrow as she realizes what he's trusting her with. Blueprints.

"Jerk. You actually _are_ planning a heist."

"Man's got to make a living." He follows her over, leaning against the table, his eyes gleaming. He seems to think it's amusing, the ass. "I have a buyer for a certain document in a certain safe-deposit box in a certain neighboring city. I'll be in and out before they know I'm there."

He obviously doesn't think much of it; doesn't even worry about one of the "good guys" seeing his plans. And, frankly, given the things she's had to deal with over the past year, she could care less about a simple bank job.

But.

She's a cop's daughter.

And sometimes plans go...sideways.

He loses the smile at the look on her face, but doesn't break eye contact.

"Just don't hurt anyone," she says, finally. "Not if you don't have to."

He tilts his head a little. In his personal timeline, she knows, he's years from his deal with the Flash. But he's not someone who kills for sport, never has been, nor for pay. In that, at least, he's a step up from her own past.

"OK," he tells her. "I prefer not to, you know. It's not...efficient."

 _And it's something your father would do, so you'll avoid it if at all possible._ She sighs, again, this time at the things she can't say.

"Of course, you don't break into a candy store and steal just one gumball..." he muses.

 _Snart, you're reusing your lines_. Ray'd told her about that one. "Whatever. I don't want to know about it."

"Right."

But it's reminded them both of who they are, why this...all this...is probably a bad idea, and she's suddenly cognizant of all the ways this could go wrong.

She knows him well. The reverse is not really true, no matter how much it seems to be at times. He barely knows her at all. Not really. What the hell are they going to talk about? Their activities thus far haven't, well, had much to do with _verbal_ communication…

But when she looks back at him again, she knows she's not going to leave.

And, oh dear god, the thought of a night with him in an actual bed….

"So," she says lightly, "dinner? I'm starving."

She only sees it because she knows him: The brief moment where he fidgets with the papers he's holding in his hands. And a fidgeting Leonard Snart is a Leonard Snart who's actually nervous.

"Room service?" he offers. "Thai place down the street? They have good take-out."

So that's it. Well, considering, it's probably just as well.

"Aaahhh…don't want to be seen in public with me?" she observes slyly. "Ashamed that you're robbing the cradle?"

His eyes snap. "No," he says shortly, straightening to sit the papers down on the desk. "I've seen what Thawne can do to people. And given that he seems to think he has more of a claim on my time than he does, I'd rather not given him any reason to connect the two of us."

There's not much she can say to that.

"Tom Yum soup," she tells him. "The hotter the better."

* * *

Slightly to her surprise, it's much easier to feel her way around certain topics than expected.

They sit on the sofa instead at of the suite's table, eating and actually talking. It feels so like card games back on the Waverider that she has to catch herself from time to time. There are things she can't mention to this Leonard-and there are things (generally suggestive things) she'd never have said to the old one that merely get a grin from this one.

She asks him about his sister. With only a brief hesitation, he answers, if only in relatively general terms. Still, his affection is clear…and then he bounces it back to her.

"And you?" He pauses before taking a bite of Gai Pad King. "Brother? Sister?"

The gut-punch feeling comes on again, abruptly, and for a moment, she can't breathe. But she must have made some sort of noise, because his eyes flicker to her face, then widen.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

She can see him wanting to ask, but he doesn't, which is a relief. Instead, he asks her about her time in the League of Assassins, and though she has to edit a little, it's actually a pretty successful conversational topic.

He nods as though it's a normal, everyday occupation…nothing to be surprised about. Maybe for a world-class jewel thief, it is.

"Merlyn said you were dead," he says abruptly. "For a year."

 _Yes, and he's the one that put me there_. "It's true." She can't resist. "I got better."

He smiles a little, but then his brow furrows as he glances away, clearly trying to restrain questions. She distracts with a question she already knows the answer to.

"How long have you known Mick?"

" 'Mick?' " He looks back, seeming amused by the familiarity in her tone. "Nearly 30 years. How on earth did you get him to work for you?"

"Mmmm. It's not precisely work," she tells him. "More like a…calling."

That gets a snort. "Mick's not a hero."

She lets it go, mostly because, even now, she's pretty sure Mick would say the same thing. (Even though he's wrong.)

Still: "You'd be surprised," she says gently, "who can be a hero."

She holds his skeptical gaze until he looks away, clearly uncomfortable, then she rises and walks over to the corner that serves as the suite's small kitchen to get rid of wreckage of her dinner. That done, she crosses to the windows that look out over the city. It's nighttime now, and she watches the view as he hears him also rise, eventually crossing back to stand just behind her.

He's close enough that she can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and it takes a good portion of the patience honed in the League and since to wait him out.

"Why?"

She does turn, then, caught off-guard by the question. "Why, what?"

He's looking out over the city himself, the lights reflected in his eyes. "Why…" he muses, then looks down at her. "After the compound. Why?"

 _Because it was_ you _and I wanted_ you _and it was an opportunity I didn't think I'd ever have again._ She searches for truth without too much of it.

"The adrenaline part was true, you know," she finally offers. "Fighting will do that. I found you attractive...yeah, go ahead and smirk; I saw the look on your face too."

He does smirk, a little. It's true, after all.

But this needs more. She closes her eyes, thinks, offers more truth.

"Look, I've lost people, in the past year or so. And you, that day, it just felt like...like...a meeting of minds. More than I've even felt with the people who are technically my teammates." It feels a little like a betrayal, but oh god, it's true.

"I don't think that was _minds_." His tone is dry. She rolls her eyes at him, smiling a little, but doesn't deny it.

"I just...felt a connection, and acted on it. Tell me you didn't," she challenges him. "Go ahead."

He doesn't. But he's looking away again, failing to meet her eyes, which is just such a Snart _tell_ that…

"I'm not a good person, Sara," he says abruptly. "Don't think I am. I'm not interested in being a hero...not even for you."

Given how often she's heard variations on that theme from him, and how constantly he'd proved his own words wrong, it shouldn't sting. But it does.

"Who asked you to?" She fires back. "And, you know, I could ask the same thing of you. _Why_?"

He stands for a moment longer, looking out at the city. She can see the sigh that moves through his chest and shoulders, and then he looks at her.

"Guess I feel a connection," he says, quietly, eyes on hers, and, oh, the rawness in them, the _want_...

He's _letting_ her see it, and she knows it, and it absolutely undoes her.

She goes up on her tiptoes to kiss him, hands going around his shoulders, nails digging into the collar of his shirt and the skin underneath as she pulls his head down to hers.

After a moment or two, though, she can feel him laugh…and he leans down and sweeps her up in his arms like some sort of old-time movie star with an old-time starlet. (She mock-glares at him; he smirks.)

He carries her into the suite's bedroom and kicks the door shut behind them.

And, for just a little while, they manage to forget, completely, about heroes and villains and crooks and assassins and Legion and Legends.

* * *

She doesn't really mean to stay overnight, but the suite's king-sized bed is just as comfortable as it looks. And, well, they've worn each other out pretty thoroughly at that point. Just once, she tells herself as she starts to drift off, her head on his chest and his hand combing gently through her hair, she wants…deserves!...to have this.

It's the best she's slept in months. And when she wakes, and rolls over to see sleepy blue eyes regarding her like she's a dream who somehow came true, she discovers that her energy levels have been fully restored.

So, he gives her to know without a word being spoken, have his.


	3. Chapter 3

Every idyll has to come to an end, and this one is no exception.

They kiss farewell at the door, things getting just heated enough that she toys with the idea of staying a little longer; it's not like the team will leave without her, after all.

But they also might come looking for her. No. Not a good idea.

She's sauntering down the hallway, humming to herself a little, when there's a whisper of sound from a nearby corridor. There's no background noise and this time, she hears it clearly—and, when she pauses, hears it again. The very soft footfall of a cat.

She turns, sighing.

"Don't tell me you stayed there all night?"

Amaya Jiwe is standing there, gazing at her with wide eyes. Briefly, Sara entertains the notion that _maybe_ , just maybe, her friend is merely reverting to her earlier dismay about her new teammate's habit of one-night stands...

But no. "Sara!" She sounds scandalized. "You are...consorting with the enemy!"

Well. So much for her not seeing the kiss. Or who was doing the kissing.

"Consorting? And here I thought we were just fu..."

"That is enough!" The other woman takes an outraged breath. "Seriously? After everything we've been doing? All the warnings about the timeline? You'd jeopardize everything we're working for and for _this_? When the captain finds out, the others..."

"You won't tell them." Sara turns and starts to walk away again.

Amaya follows her. "Give one good reason why not!"

"Fine." Sara stops in front of the elevator, hands on hips, and turns to face her again, lowering her voice to a loud whisper. "You won't tell them because you're worried that, if Mick finds any reason to think there's a way to reach Snart, to get that partnership back, he'll bail on the team and head back to a life of crime. Bye bye, Justice Society. Bye bye, whatever it is you seem to think he has the potential to become. Bye bye, _Vixen_."

Amaya stares at her, then takes in a shaky breath. Sara feels a momentarily spark of sympathy, but presses her case.

"Look. It's not hurting anything. I'm not giving him anything on our missions—you trust me enough to know that, right? And he's been dropping things about what they're doing, on purpose. It's helped out a few times. He really doesn't like the rest of them."

"Mmmmmm. So that's how you knew about the drugs." She raises an eyebrow. "And how you got the riebelite, I take it?"

"Yes."

There's a lengthy pause as they get onto the (fortunately empty) elevator. After the doors close, Amaya sighs.

"Fine. I won't say anything." She folds her arms. "Unless I see a clear and present danger to this team and this mission. Then...then, yes, I will tell."

Sara lets out a long breath. "That's really all I can ask."

"May I ask _you_ something?"

"You will anyway."

But Amaya's gaze is compassionate. "The captain has already said it is best to stay away from Mr. Snart as much as possible. That somehow, he'll have to forget...be _made_ to forget...all this before 2016, because Gideon maintains that that portion of the timeline is still stable."

"I know that." She sounds defensive and hates it. "So, if he's going to have to forget anyway, why not have this?"

"Oh, Sara. Is this, this…furtive coupling, really what you want?"

"You really weren't outside the door, then. It wasn't all that _furtive_."

Amaya ignores the joke. "I'm serious. And I'm _worried_ about you."

There's no mistaking the sincerity there. And because a soul-deep part of her responds to the very sisterly feel of her friend's words, wants to explain, she does.

"No," she tells her friend. "No. It's not what I want. But it's what I've _got_. It's all I'm _ever_ going to have with him, and I'm enjoying it, OK? Leave me this."

When the elevator opens again, she starts walking, and this time, Amaya just falls into step beside her, silent.

* * *

Malcolm Merlyn doesn't like Leonard Snart. Not even a little.

But he'll admit this: The man has some solid-steel nerve.

After "losing" the riebelite at the museum, then vanishing for days on his own pursuits, Snart had finally strolled back onto the ship days later, no less arrogant and snarky than before said...pursuits.

Thawne had been waiting.

But even with the speedster's hand wrapped around his throat and his back up against the wall, there's insolence in every line of the crook. Yes, indeed, Merlyn thinks analytically as he watches the drama unfold in front of him. Solid steel.

"I'm not done with you yet, Snart," the speedster says in that strange, reverberating tone of his. "You signed up to provide your skills for this project and you are being paid in...opportunities...as well as money and that gun. I expect results. Not excuses."

"Well, you...and your minions...aren't precisely planning anything _well_ ," the man says coolly, tone making it clear that Merlyn and Darhk are being cast in the role of minions while he is most definitely _not_. "I can only work with what I have. They can't even manage—or maintain—a decent distraction. Would you rather I get captured? Spill my guts to those little...Legends?"

It has the distinct air of a threat, but Thawne ignores that.

"Excuses," he repeats. "I was led to believe you were someone who could accomplish a job no matter the difficulties."

The appeal to pride doesn't work. Snart merely raises an eyebrow. "You're welcome to end the deal," he drawls. "This hasn't been nearly as...lucrative...as I'd hoped. Might be time to call it quits." (Nearby, Merlyn raises an eyebrow in response. This is new. _Intriguing_.)

"I said, I'm not done with you yet. In fact, I have a job for you. And this one had better be successful." Thawne releases the crook, who shrugs his parka back into place and gives him an utterly withering look.

"What is it?" he mutters.

"We'll be going to 1985. River City. I need you to...liberate an artifact from a private collection there."

"And do _I_ get to plan this heist?" Snart's voice is flat, unimpressed.

"To some extent. There are plans in place. They can be…tailored. There are blueprints on the bridge. I suggest you take a look."

The crook shrugs, exuding nonchalance, gives Thawne one more contemptuous look, and saunters off, heading for the bridge.

Thawne watches him go, then turns to Merlyn...and smiles.

Merlyn smiles back.

* * *

Sara doesn't even go along on the mission.

She knows there's a good chance the team will run up against the Legion, and an even better one that Leonard will be along, given that larceny is involved. But Rip requests her presence as backup on a side mission, and she can't quite think of a reason to demur.

So when Stein, Jax, Ray, and Heywood return from River City with grim expressions and meet the rest of the team on the bridge, she never even sees it coming.

It's Jax who squares his shoulders and walks right up to them, taking a deep breath and dropping the bomb.

"They shot Snart," the kid says bluntly. "Is the timeline fucked?"

Rip's jaw drops. Mick makes a noise of denial. Sara feels the bottom drop out of her stomach.

"What?" She hears her own voice whisper, as if from a great distance. "What did you say?"

"Someone called the cops. And someone on the SWAT Team got him, in the right side. Chest. Shoulder. The Reverse-Flash dragged him out of there." Ray takes a deep breath, but won't meet her eyes. "There was a lot of blood."

"Gideon..."

"The timeline remains stable, captain."

Sara can feel Amaya's eyes on her, knows that if she returns the gaze, she'll lose it.

"Is the timeline is stable, he's still alive," she hears herself saying. "Right? I mean...Mick's still here. He wouldn't be here if Snart hadn't come on the mission in 2016. We all still remember Snart as a teammate...right?"

Her voice sounds odd, hollow, even to herself, and she hopes it can be explained away by the fact that they'd been...close...once, before the Oculus, and not that…

Silence.

"I do," Jax volunteers. "So…good, right? I mean…Gideon would know?"

"If the timeline changes, Mr. Jefferson, none of us will know anything else," the AI informs him. "But it is, at this moment, still intact."

"Gideon, is there anything we can do besides wait?" Mick's voice is numb. Almost as numb as Sara feels.

"No, Mr. Rory. Other than tracking down the Legion and forcibly removing Mr. Snart for further medical care—which I do not recommend—waiting is, unfortunately, our only option."

Rip takes a deep breath. "So we wait."

As silence falls again, Sara turns away, avoiding Amaya's eyes, avoiding anyone's, really. She needs to get back to her room, she thinks, but her mind is spinning, and…

"He hesitated."

Somehow she hadn't even heard Jax following her. "What?"

Jax shrugs, looking at her with sad eyes.

"He could have shot that cop," he said. "The one who wound up shooting him. He could have shot him from behind, but he hesitated, and I saw it. Guess there was some of our Snart in him after all." He shakes his head. "I just hope…"

She reaches out and puts her hand on his shoulder, feeling stabilized, just a little, by the contact.

"Yeah," she tells him. "Me too."

* * *

Later, in her room, when she can finally let the tears fall, she lets herself acknowledge everything this means. What it means for _them_.

They've all known what could happen if Leonard, the one from 2013, dies before he can reach 2016 and join the Waverider crew. But she's been purposefully ignoring what else could change on a personal level, in the timeline of one man alone.

It can't happen again. _They_ can't happen again. She's changing him, for the better, perhaps, but if she changes him too much, will things happen the way they have to happen?

The whole thing is giving her a headache. She presses the heels of her hands to her temples, takes a shaky breath.

It's over. It has to be over. Or they're going to change something that shouldn't be changed, jeopardize his very existence, jeopardize the future, ruin everything the team has accomplished.

She knows it's true.

That doesn't make it hurt any less.

* * *

That last thing he thinks of before falling down into the dark is Sara.

And later, he drags himself back up through the dark, through waves of pain, with her face held in his memory. When he finally opens his eyes, he's just confused enough to feel a stab of disappointment that she's not, after all, there.

No, he's prone in the ship's medbay; he can still taste blood, and his shoulder is a mass of pain. But there's a huge white bandage on it; he can smell disinfectant. And he seems to be alive.

"So you're back," says a clinically disinterested voice to his right. "Does it hurt? The bullet did a lot of damage. You're fortunate to be alive."

"Haven't you ever heard of pain-killers?" he snarls through the agony, plastering attitude over pain: the survival skill of 40-plus years.

"You're welcome," Darhk tells him. "Given how much help you've been lately, it probably would have been a better use of resources to let you die."

The blond man shakes his head and stalks out of the medbay, leaving his patient weak and in continued pain, but alive. After all, alive.

Snart sucks in a shaky breath, then goes about marshalling his thoughts to better channel the pain. He's done it before. He'll do it again.

But while he tries to concentrate, his thoughts persist in wandering.

To _her_.

It may be time, he thinks, to make a decision.

* * *

"Did you do it?"

Darhk rolls his eyes at the yellow-suited speedster, their supposed leader. "Yes. Embedded in the collarbone. That's not coming out without major surgery, and he shouldn't even know it's there...even if you're right and he's bright enough to figure out where the other one is and remove it."

His tone suggests his finds that unlikely. Thawne ignores him.

"Good," he muses. "Now...he just needs a push..."


End file.
